


Gastronomical Tightwad

by tari_roo



Category: House M.D., NCIS
Genre: Crossover, Drabble, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tari_roo/pseuds/tari_roo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble – Pizza places equal plenty of options for toppings. Some toppings offend other people. Tony is bemused. Written for the now defunct crossover_las</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gastronomical Tightwad

 

AN: Crossover_las entry. House’s contrary and abrasive attitude amuses me no end.

As assignments away from the office went, this one was proving to be an absolute pleasure. Two whole days in the Big Apple, working some Chemical Warfare Symposium and Tony was elbow deep in smart, intelligent, beautiful women. Granted most of them were doctors or scientists, and providing a Security Detail for Ducky wasn’t all fun and games, but in between the anecdotes of Scotland, decomposition rates and sport fishing off the Falklands, there was plenty of opportunity to woo the ladies.  
McGee was currently on Ducky wrangling duty and Tony had decided to slip away for a bite of New York Pizza. Capital N, Capital Y, Capital P.

The little hole in the wall near the conference centre was renowned for its traditional pizza and far out offerings. The line was long, the place hopping and Tony spent most of his time in the line debating the menu and his choices.

Traditional margarita? El Supremo Meato? Slice of Heaven? New York Gutter?

Getting close to the order counter, Dinozzo muttered aloud more to himself than anything, “Maybe Banana Surprise? I wonder what the surprise is?”

A growing torrent of apoplectic splutterings from the man next to him had Tony twisting in place and quirking an eyebrow, “What?”

“Fruit does not belong on pizza! Blasphemy!” The guy looked... normal. Unshaven sure, but he was dressed in a suit, short cropped hair and a cane. But he was also slowly going red in the face, eyes bulging out a little.

Unmoved, Tony’s  eyebrows rose in concert as he replied, “Oh really, and what about tomato? Tomato is a...”

“Tomato is not a fruit! Just like Pink is not a girl no matter how big that rack is and a Prius is not a car but an affront to all that’s decent, the tomato is not a fruit. And you do not ever put fruit on pizza, especially not banana!”

Taken aback, Tony stepped onto the heel of the person in front of him, “Ok, ok, I won’t. Sorry, didn’t mean to step on you!” The last part was more to the grouchy lady, who was also now sending nonverbal daggers at him.

The irate man snatched a pre-ordered box from the pimply faced server and threw a few bills in his general direction. Pointing the box at Tony, he sneered, “And you’re Italian! Damn heathen.”

“How, how did you know I’m Italian?” Tony stammered.

The guy’s gaze was scathing, dismissive and frankly scary. “Like you don’t know.”

And with that, he shouldered open the door with an odd shuffling gait, cane clanking on the floor, and disappeared.

Tony stared after him in astonishment, and the server behind the counter smirked, “So, will that a Banana Surprise, or not?”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*  
Walking away from the small pizza place, House shoved a large pepperoni slice into his mouth and limped after Wilson. Wilson was delicately trying to salvage his top heavy bacon fiesta slice and mumbled, “You love banana on pizza, House.”

Swallowing, and staring at the buildings on every side, House deadpanned, “I don’t know what you are talking about, Wilson.  Can’t possibly be me you are thinking of, must be some other gastronomical tightwad. Like Chase. He’s a banana loving boy if I ever met one.”

The Chemical Warfare Symposium was due to resume shortly and he had some strong words planned for the Emergency Procedures lecture Cuddy was giving.

Wilson shook his head, long strings of grease and cheese hanging down his chin, “You’re going to hell, you know that, right?”

“Me? Never – I’m an angel, an instrument in God’s hands. A mighty miracle worker with a direct conduit to Heaven.” House’s voice rose above the noise of the street, a yellow taxi cab hurtling past, honking at something random. 

“Now that’s blasphemy.”

House’s smile was injured innocence personified. It somehow seemed to have found its long lost home.

Fin


End file.
